


all i can do, is do, my darling, right by you

by scudworth



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: A Really Terrible Pun, Alcohol, Child Death, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Issues, Fantasy Racism, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Homebrew Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, Marriage Proposal, Pregnancy, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, brief animal harm, different POVs, there's a lot lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 21:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scudworth/pseuds/scudworth
Summary: Once relishing in the simplicity of her small-town life, Olless Fogfal abandons it all to pledge herself towards Pillith, the god of strength. In the decade during and following her self-exile from everything she held dear - her quaint chicken farm, her loving husband - she reminisces.{ d&d pc backstory mixed with letters written during the campaign. semi-chronological. brief post-campaign included.  }





	1. 415 p.e.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.e. refers to "Paradise Era" - the time passed since the founding of the holy land Paradise, the setting for the campaign.

Olless rose at the cock's crow, returning to her stead when dusk broke. Such was her life's pattern every day, but she felt no need to protest. There was a special comfort in knowing your duties, filling the hours in-between with your own discretion. She refused to let her father, senile yet still competent, dictate these for her.  
  
Sprawled across their old hay-stuffed couch, he scarcely moved in the years following her mother's death. While Olless preferred the company of her farm's chickens - often more than her father's - she grimaced over his laziness. When was the last meal he cooked for her? When was the last time he actually tried at something? How could he mourn Mama by growing fatter on that scratchy couch? She missed when he actually held a presence in her life, beyond unneeded comments every time she tended to him.  
  
Cooking dinner was one of the remaining ways she got a decent conversation out of him, though most instances he took it as a platform to criticize Father Richard's sermon of the week.  
  
"Can't trust young'ins to spread the word of the Four," her father berated through mouthfuls of carrots, "A decade of dedication only scratches the surface of what it means to be a true man of faith."  
  
She could only roll her eyes at this. "He's been preachin’ since I was a kid. I think he knows what he's doing."  
  
"Hmph. Maybe I'll believe it when I can see some gray hairs on 'im. That shows true experience."  
  
"You should lead the sermons yourself then," she retorted. "You have the whitest hair in town, and nobody seems to do a good enough job for you."  
  
"I should! They should hear the sermons I gave those heretics back in Salvation! That'll really--"  
  
"Remind them of their faith, yeah." Olless groaned, still picking at her food. "Like they're not as faithful until they talk to you, the only capable clergyman."  
  
"Maybe if you knew how to use that big mouth of yours well, you'd be a 'capable' clergyman just like I was."  
  
"Whatever you say, Papa."  
  
"I'm serious. If you're not going to marry, you should take up the garb. Tell them ol' Brother Ardus is your papa."  
  
She scoffed through her own mouthful of bread. How tired she was over hearing this suggestion! "Stop bringin' this up, Papa. There's no joinin' any Order yet. I have plenty of time."  
  
"Well," he huffed, taking the last bites of his roasted chicken. "When you've got all that white hair like me, and your only friends are still those feathered shits outside, don't come crying to me that you wasted your life away."  
  
_This is your farm_ , she thought as she finished her meal. _And if you're not with Bellias by the time I'm that old, then I'll run away to the clergy._  
  
As she ran her hands underneath the steaming water, she pictured herself dressed up in black, donning the symbol of Salahir. An odd discomfort washed over her as Olless further imagined herself standing at the head of the Hen's Crossing chapel, arms outstretched, adding whatever height she lacked. Every wipe of the dish became a line of prayer, spoken to an imaginary, scattered crowd. Her, a Sister? She didn't have the eloquence for it. Father Richard, with his gentle smile and softly powerful sermons, knew how to coax and comfort the townsfolk. Her father, despite his boasts about his dedication to the Four, couldn't even recite the Litany properly. Of course his "suggestions" barely held any weight.  
  
After finishing the set of dishes, she made her way to the back to finish her nightly chores, ignoring her father's gruff quips from his stoop. Rolling shades of mauve spilled out overhead as she crossed the yard, a bag of feed stuffed haphazardly in the crook of her arm. Few remained awake in the yard to fully notice her; those who did approached her eagerly, pecking at the grass around her in hopes of any fallen feed. These were the younger ones, the ones without names assigned by a childish Olless. They quickly grew flustered when she spread the feed across the yard, chasing after one another to get more. Their easily excited nature never failed to make Olless smile, then reminding her further why she didn't want to leave the farm to become some clergyman. She was content practicing her faith here, amidst the henyard which happily defined her childhood.

She returned inside, finding the family hound, Juniper, now cuddling against her dad. Olless hoped that he was asleep, saving her from the nosy demands of her whereabouts for the remainder of the evening. Only a snore came from him when she creaked open the front door, much to her own relief. Not even Juniper stirred when the door slammed, shuttering in the wind.

 

* * *

 

Stars decorated the dimming sky when she entered the central part of town. Businesses here ceased with the setting sun, with only candlelit windows surrounding what was once the marketplace. A neighboring pony snorted as she slipped past it, heading into the Crooked Cock for a brief escape. Town regulars were scattered across the well-worn tavern, mainly keeping to the back to keep their gambling private. Olless couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment when she not only recognized all of them, but knew it would be a lonely night for her here. She’d much prefer the grandiose stories of the spare adventurer over being cheated out of what little coin she had by the Sawtooth siblings. She was sure she caught Beatin’ Brandy’s eye by the time she sidled up on a barstool, but thankfully the girl was too invested in losing to her eldest brother that she forewent a jab.

It was Alfie, the oldest barkeep, who slid her usual across the table just a few minutes later. A cold glass of rye whiskey was among the quick fixes to daily dealings with her father. When Alfie asked about him, her immediate instance was to wince, though he regarded it as a belated reaction to her drink.

“Haven’t been workin’ much nowadays,” he began, pouring ale for yet another one of her neighbors. “I guess your pa’s doin’ well? Don’t see him around here often.”

“I’ve tried bringin’ him here plenty of times,” she said following a couple sips, “He says he prefers drinkin’ at home with my own cooking.”

Alfie softly chuckled at this. “Can’t blame that stubborn mule a bit.” Ale carefully in hand, he exited the bar, directed towards that corner, now filled with jeers of differing owners. “Tell him though that Alfie’s been askin’ about him. It’s been a while since we had ourselves a chat.” Olless only nodded at this, continuing to nurse her whiskey.

The corner’s patrons grew restless in their gambling; beyond that, business hardly seemed to pick up for the evening. Two whiskeys in, the doors snapped open, though a hush failed to wash over the sparse crowd. Olless herself barely noticed; more neighbors usually flooded in as the night grew steeper. Maybe Beatin’ Brandy’s hollers woke up the rest of the town, and they were coming to give her a much-needed what-for.

Then came an unexpected and very unfamiliar voice behind her, accompanied by a firm tap on the shoulder.  “You sure you should be here, little miss?”

Turning around, with her third, half-finished whiskey still in hand, she was greeted by a dusty-skinned human man, covered in a wiry, brown beard that ran just shortly under his neck. Surprise washed over his face when he saw hers, apparently, though she had no idea why.

“My bad,” he said, drawing back from her. “I didn't know this was a dwarf town too. I thought you were just a little kid.”

Olless snorted. “Like I haven't heard that one before.”

“Again, my bad.” The mysterious man took no pause in taking the vacant seat next to her, though if she was still on her first class, she would’ve minded. “If it wasn’t obvious, I’m not from around here. I wasn't told it was a town where kids could drink like their parents, nor that dwarves lived here.”

“They don’t,” she said, stopping herself from using _we_ to put her on par with other dwarves. “My family have been the only dwarves livin’ here in years. Most people don't seem to mind besides the whole height thing.”

“I’m sure. Folks seem nice enough so far.” The man looked around the tavern, only for his gaze to linger on the group corralled in the back. “Those your friends?”

Olless shook her head. The Four forbid she happily partook in the Sawtooth siblings’ shenanigans. “Not really. I know them like the back of my hand, but don't let them hear from out of town. They like swindlin’ adventurers.”

“An adventurer? You give me too much credit, miss.”

“Then what, a merchant?”

A sly smile formed beneath his beard, catching her attention more than she’d like to admit. “Right on the mark. I've got some business out at the edge of town, even some up north, but this seemed like a cozy enough place to rest up.”

Another sip gave her the go-ahead to smile warmly in return, along with waving over a sleepy-looking Alfie. “It’s a perfect place for that.” Upon Alfie’s greeting, she asked him for a fourth glass, only directing it towards the mysterious man. He laughed, appearing to appreciate her boldness.

“The welcome is really warm in this town. Hope that’s something strong you’re drinking.”

She smiled again. “I’d say so.”

The pair continued to pleasantly chat the better part of the early evening away, as the Sawtooth siblings finished up their game and eventually moved their business outside. Despite Olless’s curiosity, the man refused to outright state what sort of business he specialized in, only giving her a pointed look when she kept asking. Either her slight drunkenness was preventing her from picking up hints, or he was just being coy. She preferred the latter. Said merchant did divulge to her that he hailed from within Salvation, along with his name: Griffin. Not once in this conversation did she talk about her father, still snoring away at home on that faded couch, a thought put out of her mind until dawn. Although, as expected from cityfolk or the occasional adventurer, Griffin did ask about Olless’s activities at home, and if she ever wanted to leave, given her own questions about Salvation. Even inebriated, it was a solid “no”.

The Crooked Cock appeared completely empty by the time Griffin finished his second glass, though it did not go unnoticed by him. “You’re not in any hurry to get back, by chance?” he asked her. “I already got a room for the evening. If you’d like, we can carry our conversation up there.” He glanced over at Alfie, dozing off whilst still standing. “Just so we don't bother the older fellow.”

Whether flustered from this gesture, the whiskey, or both, Olless sheepishly smiled.

“Fine by me.”

 

* * *

 

For her, fucking was always missing a certain element. While sheer, incomparable pleasure surged through her as she stared down at Griffin, it felt just like _that_ \- simple enjoyment, nothing more. Fucking human men gave her the security of being unable to conceive, though she caught herself occasionally wondering about the off chance she did. Folks of Hen’s Crossing relished in a good scandal, and she wasn’t sure she’d be comfortable in the center of one.

The men she’d been with, although few in number, were always different, Griffin hardly being an exception. That was the special charm to humans, ranging so widely and physically. She imagined the differences in dwarven men lying in their amount of chest hair and virility, not much more. She liked Griffin’s dark thicket lacing up and down his chest, as well as the way her wavy spools of hair intertwined with it. For a moment, Olless was saddened by the fact he’d be gone by noon, never to see her again, or tell her what the hell kind of business he was in. Perhaps it was better this way; he truly didn't seem like the type to tie himself down to a farm girl, and she didn't have the heart to follow him well beyond her home.

He sprawled across her tiny lap after he finished, as she admired his loose hair cascading over her thigh.

“Shit,” he said, stroking her belly a bit. “And to think I thought you were some kid.”

She gently laughed and ran her fingers through his hair,  soon conscious of how thick they were amongst the silky strands. “I guess you’re leavin’ in the mornin’, then.”

“Do you not want me to?” Olless only shrugged.

“It’s your business, after all. I get it.”

He nodded, soon sitting up to face her. “Plus, the person I’m meeting is… a little impatient. I wouldn't be surprised if I had a letter from her downstairs, asking about my whereabouts.” With this, he took her already outstretched hand in his own. “This was really nice though. Certainly a warm welcome.”

She smiled once more, lacking the confident words the whiskey provided her. When briefly looking out the nearby window, she noticed pinks breaching through the darkened sky. Time for her to return to Ardus’s side.

“I gotta go, now,” she said, shifting off the bed and beginning to redress herself. “The chickens do need feedin’.”

He got up as well, chuckling at this, although she initially didn't know why. “Go ahead. You are, after all, a master at cocks.”

Her face instantly fell at this, especially over how goofily confident he looked when he said it.

“Now I’m definitely leavin’. I don't know what if I've heard more - that I look like a kid, or some potshot about cocks.”

“Come on, you found it just a little funny.”

“Nah.”

“Well,” he began, bending down and giving her a quick hug from behind, “if you ever want to hear more bland jokes, I’ll make sure to look around for you if I'm in town again. Take care, miss Olless.”

She briefly leaned her head back against his.

“You too, Griffin.”

The sky erupted into various shades of blue by the time Olless returned home, with the sun just peeking through the trees that surrounded it. She made sure to feed the chickens foremost; that way, following breakfast, she could try getting away with sneaking in a nap.

Oddly, her father was missing from his usual place, which she took as a positive sign he was attempting at being active. She poised herself over the stove, cracking freshly collected eggs over the fire, assuming the smell would attract her father from anywhere. There he appeared minutes later, albeit more frazzled and frantic than usual.

“Have you seen Juniper outside at all?” he asked, using the tableside to balance himself yet not bothering to sit down.

“No, Papa, but she should be fine.” She flipped the eggs over, not even surprised he didn't question where she was last night. “She’s just probably holed in the coop.”

“You know that dog is the only thing stoppin’ our chickens from getting snatched up by those damn foxes. How will we get by if they’re all gone, Olless?”

“What happened to them bein’ ‘feathered shits’?”

“I can call ‘em whatever I like if they’re plump and alive.”

She sighed and pulled the sizzling pan off the fire. “I’ll look for her after we eat. I swear she’s fine, Papa.”

“Otherwise, you’re goin’ out and gettin’ us a new pup.”

“Fine, Papa,” she groaned, as she set each fried egg on their plates.

Apparently, Juniper wasn’t holed up in the coop, nor was she running around the yard, toying with the chickens. She was never the kind of dog to wander into town, only staying inside the house if she grew tired of the yard. 

Frustratingly rubbing her temple, Olless was far from looking forward to mentioning her disappearance to her father. For once, she wanted to be the one to turn the “I told you so” back in his face, for she knew his would be harsher if she didn’t return with Juniper in tow. Chickens pecked at her feet, expectant of more feed, as she glanced around the yard. It didn’t appear like she left any signs behind, because why did she think this would be an easy task? Her weary mind told her to search the forest, though she knew that was a shot in the dark, as Juniper could be on her merry way to the Shrine of Dyal about now.

Still, she made her way up to the hillside, shifting between tree trunks. Thankfully, the sun rode high above her today, as she caught glimpses of black tufts of fur hung in low-sitting branches. So the dog got tired of Hen’s Crossing and decided to leave for herself. Ol’ Brother Ardus really had a bad track with companions in his life. Olless bemoaned the fact that she hardly knew the forest outside of childhood exploration, and that returning home could provide a daunting challenge in its own. A hour or so must have rolled by before she heard a familiar whine through the trees. 

Upon following it, there Juniper was, leg wedged in some sort of an oversized trap, bleeding out over the spikes that held her. She jumped when hearing Olless approach her, only returning to whining when she realized who she was. Olless bent over and looked down at the trap, admittedly unsure over how to free her from it.

“Don’t worry, June,” she whispered, gently petting the shaking dog, “I’ll get you out of here. Somehow.”

Gingerly, she laced her fingers in-between the spikes, pulling outwards with whatever strength she could muster. After a few attempts, and perhaps even cutting herself, she quickly opened the trap, with Juniper pulling herself out and limping away from it. She leaned up against the tree, still shivering with her bent leg. As Olless closed the trap and approached Juniper to carry her home, she heard sticks snapping nearby. Shit.

The last thing she expected was a fellow dwarf, perhaps just a few years older than her. He was dressed simply, unlike what she believed of other dwarves. Noticing Juniper, and a bloodied Olless, he immediately flushed crimson as he realized what occurred. 

“Oh, oh no,” he said, racing up to inspect Juniper himself. “When I set that out, I had no idea it would even snag something like this.” The dwarf then worriedly looked at Olless, auburn, loose strands sweeping over his eyes. “I’m so sorry that she got caught.” 

Anger was perhaps her first instinct, but this wasn’t the time for it, as she knew she’d be on the receiving end when she returned home.

“It-it’s fine,” was all she could manage out. “I’m just glad it didn’t kill her.”

“M-me too. All I was hopin’ for was a stray rabbit to come by, so that I wouldn’t have another dinner of stew.” He also bent over, ripping off a shred of his sleeve to tie around her leg. “You from around here at all? The least I can do for you is walk you back.”

 She then cradled Juniper in her arms, feeling her nervously shiver against her chest. “We’re all the way in Hen’s Crossing. You don’t have to.” 

The dwarf shook his head, sweeping his hand over and pushing the strands back. “No, I mean it. I want to make sure you get back alright. Plus, it doesn’t seem like you know your way around this part of the forest.”

“Not...exactly. I was lucky to even find her out here.”

“Well, this is somethin’ new for both of us, then.”

He began leading her back the way she came, cautiously weaving in and out of trees to help her keep up. Juniper eventually subsided in her shivering, to which Olless initially believed she passed, until she heard a slight snore and whine emerging from the pup. After minutes of them scaling further down the hillside passed, the dwarf broke the silence.

“So, er, what’s your name, by the way? Feel like it’s rude of me to not ask, since I’m goin’ to your house after hurtin’ your pup, and all,” he said, branding a nervous smile underneath his developing beard. 

“I’m Olless Grayhelm,” she replied, a touch humored by how unexpectedly humble he was, though it easily could be her fatigue talking. “And this is Juniper.” 

“Again, it’s the least I can do. I just hope Juniper’ll be alright.” 

“She will be.” Olless paused, amidst the slight awkwardness. “Thank you again for doing this, um…”

“O-oh, right.” He gave yet another nervous laugh.

 

“It’s Yab. Yab Fogfal.”  

 


	2. 433 p.e.

Yab,

I understand that this may be the most you've heard from me in months, yet the last you’ll hear for months. Bethka’s death stole the words from both of us. We may recover from this in time, I know we will - but I cannot until I do what I must. I depart for the Citadel at dawn, and the reminder of leaving you behind bears down on me incredibly. You may think how flippant it is for me to abandon the farm, to abandon you, after all that we've gone through over the past few months -- I need to do this. The closest I can describe it to is a strong surge in my heart - a "call", that brought me closer to the Four at a point where I felt my most distant from them. While I am still unsure on even my potential as a true Knight, for I lack what many of them boast, there are those I can help, maybe where I could not with Bethka. I can only hope the Four will help guide me in this task that I am going blindly into.

Not a day or evening will go by without thinking of you, the farm, and Bethka. It is impossible for me to pinpoint the moment I’ll miss the most. Our daily tradition of watching dawn spill into the sky will forever be within my heart. Sixteen years’ worth of this, worth of just you -- I wouldn't trade it for anything. The Four will guide me back to you one day, and, perhaps, all will be just a little better in the world.

I love you, incredibly so. May the Four protect you in the days we’re apart.

Forever,

Olless

 


	3. 415 p.e.

In the months of his sudden employment under the Grayhelm family, Yab grew familiar with the arguments between its patriarch and only child. The walls were only so thick, and the pair’s voices carried more than they were most likely aware. He sensed things were tense upon his hiring, as Miss Olless immediately questioned her father’s hasty decision. Since Juniper’s agility was now hindered, nothing stood between their wandering hens and a hungry fox, besides an apologetic, yet more than capable trapper.

At times, he couldn’t help but find the topics of some funny, such as a fight breaking out over spilled jam. Others, though, seemed as if they were only there to cover silence. Whatever the case, he always noticed Miss Olless emerge from the home in a huff, storming into a nearby chicken coop in an attempt to calm herself. On the occasion where she appeared particularly bothered by it, he decided to join her in there, at the very least to ensure her wellbeing. 

“Look, it - it’s fine,” she answered. Her attempt at hiding her face from him said otherwise.

“Doesn’t seem that way.” 

He caught a glimpse of puffed lids, before a hand shot up, quickly trying to wipe them away. “It is,” she continued, forcing her tone to even out. “It will be. I just wish he could get off my back, ‘pecially when we have company.” 

“Truthfully, Miss Olless--”

“You don't have to call me that.”

“R-right, what I mean is that I don't mind it as much as I’m concerned for you two.”  _ I hate to see you hide your tears for me _ , he struggled to fight back from admitting. “Has it always been like this?” 

She sighed, swiping a hand over her frizzy hair. “Only in the past few years. Maybe age is really gettin’ to him, maybe he misses Mama so much he feels the need to bite at me for her sake. But it's not like I’m a little girl.”

“Well, you  _ are, _ ” he gently quipped, prompting a deadpan glance from her. “Nowhere in spirit, though. He’s just strugglin’ with you bein’ you.” 

“I think he’d be used to it after twenty-one years.” 

“It could just take him some time.” 

“He’s well over a century old, he’s runnin’ out of it--” 

“You know what I mean.”

Miss Olless paused. “No, I do, I - I’m sorry.” With another swipe of a hand, she began pulling her hair back, as if it allowed her more composure. The soft outlines of her face were soon exposed to Yab, detailing every bounding curve. He hoped the congested heat of the coop would excuse his suddenly flushed face, but she didn't seem to notice it. “I appreciate even you comin’ over to check on me. No one’s… really been able to do that.” 

He smiled at this, feeling the blush contort alongside his cheeks. “Of course.” Static soon gathered on his shoulder, where she had placed her hand, returning a smile back to him. It remained throughout his return home the following day, and still as he laid in bed that evening. When touching it with his own hand, it sent further shocks through his entire body, and the blush returned once more. Thoughts faded into darkness and there she was, murky and blurred by his dreams but she was a part of them nonetheless. A sea of chickens with Miss Olless towering above them, hair untied for once and cascading like unforeseen seas. Miss Olless in his own home, Miss Olless’s brightness amidst dim, dripping candles in the chapel. He never accounted his dreams for their complexities, but she was there, even during his days spent away from the Grayhelm farm. She was a constant presence in his thoughts, almost watching over him as he tinkered with his own traps. No matter what, he couldn't shake her. 

There were some days where he found himself making the journey to Hen’s Crossing, regardless of whether he would be caught in the middle of another argument or not. He created tasks for himself, or offering to pick up on whatever chore Brother Ardus slapped on Miss Olless last minute. Neither Grayhelm appeared to mind his extraneous presence, though he suspected the former caught on, despite his senility. 

Miss Olless began to spend most of her own days outside with him. His own doubt surrounded her intentions in doing so;  _ does she like being with me, or does she just want to get away from her father?  _ Her invitations to accompany her with errands in town played into this worry, but the extra hours they spent there calmed it. Here, she brimmed with social flair as she chatted with neighbors and visiting merchants, not held by the sharp comments of her father. The peculiar, yet brief stares of the presence of not one, but two dwarves did not escape Yab, but he ignored them to watch her shine. She was caught up on every detail of the baker’s life, and she knew the town’s Father ever since she could hardly talk. In the weeks where a wayward, gnomish merchant stopped in town, she traded pleasantries in their tongue, however clumsy her accent was. He liked how clumsy it was. It gave him the sense that she  _ cared _ enough to try and accommodate for them. 

One afternoon, as the trees that decorated the horizon began to turn, she proposed something. 

“How’d you like to get a drink tonight?” 

A tool slipped from his hand, attracting a stray hen’s attention as it rolled into the field. 

“T-that’s awful kind of you,” he sputtered, fighting back the arising blush, “but why?” 

Miss Olless shrugged. “You’ve just helped me and Papa out these past few months, the least I can do is treat you for a drink.”

“You’ve given me a lot already, with lunches and dinner and sometimes that couch to sleep on--”

“Still. The offer’s there.” 

Amidst his persistent fluster, he smiled softly.

“I think I will. T-thank you, Miss Olless.” This time - curiously - she didn’t correct him.

 

* * *

 

With the ever-present, staggered drunkard perched outside, The Crooked Cock intimidated Yab, even in passing. Past jobs in more bustling towns brought him to the tavern scene often, but perhaps it was her by his side that added to his nervousness. 

They arrived shortly after an early dinner, emerging into a mostly empty, quaint bar. The sole group of customers, a trio, huddled in the corner, bickering over playing cards and ale. Their matching array of freckles and matted, straw-stiff hair gave them away as siblings. Thankfully Miss Olless rounded a smaller table further off from them, as Yab hoped to avert their attention for the evening. Minutes passed as the drinks rolled out, with an ale for himself and a glass of whiskey for her. In these moments only silence lied between them. She took to swirling her glass a few times before the first sip. He wasn't sure what to think. Was she regretting this? 

“I, um,” he stumbled, in an attempt to lighten the air, “I wanted to thank you again for this. You didn't have to go out of your way to--”

Another swig, and she put her hand up.

“No, no, it’s okay.” She paused, mulling over her words. “I’m sorry if I’m… um, being a bit awkward with this. Truthfully, I’d like to get to know you a little bit better.” 

Oh.

“I’ve just, uh, never really gotten this far with anybody before.”

_ Oh. _

Heat quickly slipped over his face, the stein failing to hide it. “T-there really isn't much that you don’t know about me already.” 

“Besides being a travelin’ trapper from Green’s Way?” 

“That’s all there is--” 

“I don’t believe it. You seem too different for you to just be  _ that. _ ” 

“How’m I different? I’m only me.” 

“That’s it. You’re different from, well...” Miss Olless paused once more. “Other dwarves.”

Yab couldn't fully gauge if she meant offense by this or not, yet he met the statement with other mixed feelings. “Pardon me, I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“You’re not, um, dwarfy.” 

He shifted in his seat with this. Despite her lack of a better term, he knew what she was referring to. From his understanding, the Grayhelms existed as the sole, present dwarves in Hen’s Crossing. Presumably, Miss Olless - in a similar vein as him - had no connection to bonafide dwarven culture beyond her heritage. Still, it was such an odd thing to hear, that one stood out amongst their race. There was no question about him believing that she certainly did, but for different reasons than she probably had for him. 

“T-thank you,” he finally mustered out, “I guess.” 

She now sported her own blush, but he didn’t know if it was from her own embarrassment or sheerly the whiskey. “Sorry, I didn’t mean any offense by it--” 

“No, no, it’s alright. I know you didn’t. I think it comes from me bein’ the only dwarven kid where I grew up. I didn’t even have any of those fancy history books that’s all around your house. All I had were the parables n’ picture books the sisters had.”

“Wait - sisters?” She grimaced, considering this carefully. “...do you not have parents then?” 

He shook his head, even continuing to do so after he noticed her immediate regret of asking. “It’s okay. Those two sisters were practically my moms anyways. Took after them more than any dwarf I’ve had business with.” 

“Might I ask what happened to them?” Miss Olless looked down at the table, somewhere past her whiskey. If this question came from a stranger, he may have not been as comfortable with sharing his answer. And she did, after all, wanted to know him better. Perhaps his following shrug wasn’t the answer she may have been looking for.

  
“I’m not sure. The sisters told me it was just my mom who dropped me off at the orphanage, freshly born. Explained she heard a call to the Four, but didn’t feel right raisin’ me alongside her clergy trainin’. I got curious when I was young and wanted to maybe find her, but the sisters couldn’t tell me where in Paradise she went off to, even though she told ‘em. Maybe to the Citadel or the Towers, was all they said, but I decided I couldn’t interfere with her life.” 

“Maybe she would’ve been happy to see you, to see what kind of person you grew up to be.”

“Maybe. But she placed me in the care of others because she had to follow the Four herself. I can’t really blame her for that.” 

“I suppose so.” She finished off her glass with this, before smirking slightly to herself. “Look at us, though. Connectin’ over clergy parents. That I didn’t expect.” 

He laughed along with this, albeit nervously, over hearing how “us” rolled so smoothly off her tongue. He knew that he was putting more to this than what she probably was, but this felt so nice to him. So new, so tangible, yet so unique that things would return to their normal routine the moment they left the Crooked Cock. Nothing special may happen beyond this, he told himself, but he nevertheless wanted to open himself anyhow.

“So,” she continued, breaking him from his thoughts, “then where does ‘Fogfal’ come from?” 

“It was one of the sisters’ surnames - Sister Helena. Since I was one of the few orphans there who didn’t become clergy themselves, she passed it along to me.” 

“How sweet of her. It fits nicely with your name, too.” 

“Y-you think?” 

Miss Olless nodded. “Yeah. That’s one of the first things I noticed about you, actually. How unique your name was.” 

“E-even after I caught your dog?”

“Oh,” she chuckled. “Believe me, that’s what makes you different too.”

Conversation dwindled on, and Yab took much comfort in watching her relax more around him. Eventually, they left, with stars glittering overhead during their talks on the way back. An ebbing excitement washed over him as he shifted on to the couch - maybe they actually had something going for them. The worn, scratchy cloth had no effect on him as he reminisced on their night together, leaving him wondering how the days to follow were going to be. 

Then he saw Miss Olless hovering over, with just a dim candle in hand, surprising him all the same. 

“Hey,” came her voice as a soft whisper, “you don’t have to sleep right here, you know.” 

“Wh-where would you have me, then?” 

“Just come upstairs with me.” 

With every ounce of prayer in him then, he hoped to the Four the candle’s glow did not reveal his crimson. 

“Um, a-are you sure about that--” 

“Then why’d I ask? There’s enough room. Plus, I’m not goin’ to let you sleep in Papa’s ass indent anymore than you need to. Which you don’t.”

“What if he finds out, though?”

She shrugged. “He can get over it.”

Every step to Miss Olless’s room felt longer than the last. Each proposal she made to him tonight grew bolder, and as they quietly climbed the stairs into the once-forbidden upper level, his mind slipped to a scenario that he immediately pushed out.  _ Now  _ he was jumping to sheer ideals, but only the Four knew where this night was headed.

He could hardly see any part of her room, beyond what the candle and waxing moonlight scarcely revealed to him. The most prominent aspect - besides her - was the singular bed, posed towards the center. She soon sat on it, nearly bare thighs poking out of her nightgown and drawing his gaze in all the same, despite whatever his attempts to break it. Without a word, she patted the space next to her.

“M-Miss Olless--” he attempted out, before she stopped him.

“You can drop the ‘miss’ now,” she said with a teasing tone, “and just c’mon over here.”

Hands folded over his chest, he at first laid there on his back, staring into the blackness as she settled into her own spot. Yab couldn’t lie to himself; this was much more comfortable than the couch downstairs, and he was  _ next  _ to  _ her, _ by her own volition. He had no idea what to do next, as he always stumbled during this part with whatever girls he was with. But this was different. Mi-- Olless was different. In all of his uncertainties, he didn’t want to ruin this with her.

A cold hand politely brushed against his arm, shooting a spark of shivers through him.

“May I?” Olless asked, edging closer to him. He nodded as words completely escaped him and her hands joined his atop his chest. Her hair gently rubbed against his heated cheek, and a relieved sigh arose from her. As he grew more accustomed to her body next to his, his interlocked palms loosened, taking to holding hers instead. Together they laid there, wordless and practically breathless, freed of whatever tension lied between them. Yab had no idea how long she felt in this way for him, but the way she took to him indicated that her feelings were far from recent. He was grateful for this blessing, something that he wanted for a long, long time. As he drifted off, with her long gone beside him, he finally understood her boldness from earlier, even if it waned into self-consciousness back at the Crooked Cock.

He was a risk she wanted to take. He made her happy.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Frost decorated the plains and marshes surrounding Hen’s Crossing, as the chickens took to dashing inside nearby hamlets for a brief sense of warmth. Yab himself took to frequently staying within the Grayhelms’ home during his first winter there. While a single layer of frost far from prevented him from traveling back to Green’s Way, his growing intimacy with Olless did. Not that he seemed to mind, nor did she. 

Brother Ardus caught on sooner than later, much to Olless’s expressed chagrin. Neither of them were exactly subtle, particularly her and her pronounced disappearances into the town with him. While Yab certainly was anxious of her father’s disapproval, he curiously didn’t receive it. Instead, he gave a huff and a grin, nestled beneath wiry strands of his gray beard. However, this quickly shifted to pressure on Olless, particularly one that Yab himself wasn’t ready to fully address.

The ever-so familiar arguments between father and daughter emanated from the slightly ajar windows, with Yab catching their topics occasionally. As he was fixing up a coop’s wiring at the break of twilight, a fight broke out between them, almost loud enough for the entire town to hear.

“I’m not makin’ that for dinner tomorrow!” 

“If not tomorrow, then sometime soon! That’s the only way he’s gonna settle down with you!” 

Yab stopped, nearly slicing his finger on the open wire.

“Not by makin’ some roasted chicken! I do that anyways, no help from you!”

“This dish is different! Brandy Sawtooth made it for her boy, and they’ll married within the month thanks to it! Same happened to that Wheatley girl down the hill!”

“The Sawtooths are idiots! You know this!”

“If the ‘engagement chicken’ can bring a couple o’ idiots together then, it can get my daughter married!”

“IT’S JUST CHICKEN, PAPA!”

Yab now fumbled with the wiring as their bickering continued on. Engagement was certainly present in his thoughts - after all, he was thinking of doing it in the near future - but Brother Ardus’s push for it concerned him. And was there really a kind of chicken that triggered proposals? It seemed silly, but in a town that centered itself around the livelihood of chickens, it  _ made _ sense. Even if it didn’t trigger any immediate engagement, he would still like to try the dish, especially if Olless herself made it.

He heard the back door slam, and it was a matter of time before Olless would find him in the coop. His hopes came true, and she stood behind him, quickly studying his progress on the wire.

“That’s lookin’ pretty good so far,” she commented, still carrying a bit of edge to her tone. “Looks like it’ll catch whatever hungry creature decides to stop by.”

“Thank you,” he said, “wires aren’t my strongest suit, but I’m glad I’m gettin’ practice with them.”

Upon looking up at her, he noticed that her face was still twisted with frustration, despite her trying to fight it back, perhaps for his sake. Even with his increased presence, the arguments still continued, and she couldn’t exactly escape them, no matter how petulant the topic was. Their time spent out of the house together helped, he knew for sure, but she would return to her father’s remarks and conflicts of the day. If only there was something else he could offer her.

As she began to walk away to feed the chickens, it occurred to him.

“Why don’t you come back with me one day?”

She stopped in her tracks, with the feed tightly grasped against her.

“Pardon?”

Oh, no. He spoke too soon.

“Y-you of course don’t have to. I just thought you may need a break from here.”

She still stood there, silent. A duo of impatient hens began flocking to her feet.

“Plus, well, I-I don’t know,” he continued on, explanations trying to fill the emptiness at this point. “I’d like to show you where I grew up. I-I know you may not leave here much--”

“Yab,” she finally said, ignoring the hens that kept picking at her. “I’ve never left here before.”

“I - I had no idea.”

With a heavy sigh, she attended to the hens. His chest grew tighter by the second as he watched her feed them one by one. This is why he wasn’t one for boldness, despite whatever best intentions.

“...but,” she began again, folding over the now-empty bag, “that doesn’t mean I won’t go with you.” 

“Are you sure?”

Olless nodded, before taking his hands into her own. “Yeah. I may be nervous on the way out, but it’d be worth even my worse fears to see where you’re from. Plus, maybe it’ll get Papa out of the house for once. How long would we be gone for?” 

“Only a day or two, as I know you’re needed back here.” 

“As you are, too,” she responded, gently kissing his hands. 

The next day was ripe with preparation, and Olless fending off her father’s own comments on the matter. Even if she had never traveled beyond Hen’s Crossing before, a fact which, truthfully, saddened Yab quite a bit, Green’s Way would be the perfect journey for her. The majority of the day would be spent wandering through lowlands, plains, and hillsides, all of which he knew she was accustomed with. They would return to the larger town by evening, spending the next day exploring it together. 

They departed at dawn, with Olless nestled atop his pony, right behind him. Hues of rose and soft blues swirled over them, as the morning, chilling breeze led the plains surrounding them into a gentle dance. Yab swore he felt her snoozing on his shoulder when day fully broke. It humored him - with all she did during an usual day, she couldn’t keep herself awake for the start of something new. When she awoke -  with a surprised snore that almost upset his pony - she remained curious on their surroundings. In hindsight, he now wished he waited to propose this journey to her, as she would’ve been even more wide-eyed seeing the full verdancy of the land in the springtime. Nobody said this would be their only time traveling there, however. 

Dusk was soon drawing into night as they entered into Green’s Way. The chapel’s bells rang out for the evening sermon, with a couple of stragglers rushing inside before they ceased. Olless chuckled at this, pulling her arms around him further. They headed towards the center of town, amidst shops just closing for the evening. With putting his pony away, he led her around to the back of the jeweler’s house, revealing a small set of stairs heading to the third level. Their trademark creak surprised Olless, nearly making her drop her sack and having it tumble down the first flight. As he got to his door, nerves finally settled into him, causing the keys to shake within his grasp. He was so willing to expose his part of his life to her, to involve her in every part of it, but he realized, in his own excitement and attempt at boldness, he forgot one of the most important steps. The power of the first impression.

He pushed the door open, grabbing the nearby lantern and instantly lighting it. It revealed his own messy habits to her, now neglected thanks to his extended stays in Hen’s Crossing. Half-empty pots, pieces of bread, and haphazard clothes laid strewn all about in his home. The occasional letter or two from Olless herself was among them, as well as tools and attempts at new contraptions. Afraid of her reaction, he didn’t look back at her as he rushed in to tidy up. 

“I, um, I’m sorry you have to see all of this,” he said, fumbling through the messes he made and trying to disguise his own squalor, “o-of course it’s been a few days since I’ve been back here, it might be a few minutes.”

“Yab, it’s alright.” She placed her sack down and joined him in helping, swooping up the scattered dishes. “I can go ahead and wash these for you.” His embarrassment refused to cease with this - she was his guest for once, she didn’t have to help. While it didn’t take long to tidy his own home, he still wished he foresaw this and cleaned earlier, however much of a challenge was in itself.

At his quaint end table, they broke the bread from her home together and ate, alongside potatoes she bought the previous evening. She found it charming, which came to a surprise to him, even the mess she was welcomed with. Her own nerves about leaving home were quelled by staying here with him, and what awaited them the next morning. The night ended with them settling into his bed, clearly not meant for two people, but they made it work. As the winter’s moonlight reflected onto the wood paneling of his home, a thought remained in his mind, something he would have to cleverly avoid for an indeterminate amount of time. He just wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“H-hey, Olless?” he asked, as he cuddled into her. A conversation about it wouldn’t hurt matters much, right? 

Only a “hmm?” emerged from, indicating she was quickly falling asleep.

“I was wondering about… if, um…” he pondered through his words, trying to find the best place to start. 

“About what?” 

Without him fully realizing, it tumbled out.

“A-about marryin’ you.”

She sat up immediately, inadvertently shoving him off.

“W-what?!” she exclaimed. At this point his face basically grew as red as his beard, and he could hers was getting close, however darker her skin was.  

“I - I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” he stuttered, attempting to cover his tracks, “I-I just heard about what you and your father were talkin’ about, w-what with the chicken and all--”

“W-wait, really?” She rubbed her eyes, almost out of disbelief. “Yab, Papa is an idiot, and is believin’ some rumor that a chicken dish can get you married. Don’t tell me you believed what he was sayin’--”

“N-no! No, not at all.” He sat up, heaving a huge sigh. “What I’m tryin’ to say is -- I-I just -- I-I just think you’re great. What we’ve been doin’ these past few months have been almost out of a dream to me. Even a blessing from the Four themselves! And I-I just want to be there more, in your life. And I want to show you more of my own. T-that’s why I wanted you over here. Whenever I came back, it just didn’t feel right. Every night I thought about you. And even if that thing with the chicken was silly, it played into what I’ve been thinkin’ for a while now.” Yab then buried his hands in his face, frustrated by this entire situation. “I’m sorry t-this isn’t exactly perfect, what with my mess and w-whatever this p-proposal is or even i-if it’s not one--”

“Yab, Yab, Yab.” She grew closer, repeating his name in an attempt to soothe him. “Listen. It - it’s all okay. You just took me, um, by surprise, is all.”

“I won’t be mad if you don’t want to, far f-from it--”

“Yab,” she continued, a touch sternly yet calmly, “I didn’t say that I didn’t want to. I don’t need a big fancy proposal or engagement, or even some stupid, magic chicken dish. I just want you by my side. Not just for weeks, or for months, but, um--”

Now her voice began to break.

“F-for as long as possible. You’re so different, an-and lovely, Yab. Even with the messes and everythin’. Everyone has somethin’ like that. I just happen to adore yours.”  

Deep brown eyes, enclosed in the long eyelashes he was always so captivated by, held his gaze.

“I - um, don’t have a ring or anythin’ though.”

“That’s okay,” she replied. “I don’t mind waitin’.”

“Um, the jeweler who I rent this out from is a fairly nice miss, maybe we can see what she has in her stock tomorrow.”

Olless chuckled - out of nervousness, joy, or confusion about this entire situation, he couldn’t quite tell. “I’d like that very much.”

Details, they would decide, would follow in the morning as well. With limbs tangled together, and waves of thick hair intertwining, they looked upon what they loved about one another, and their simple gratitude of being present in that exact moment. Despite it all, the future appeared nothing but promising and bright.

With Olless, Yab thought to himself, nothing could go wrong.

  
  



	4. 443 p.e.

Yab,   
  
(The first line is full of different, scribbled out phrases, including what looked to be an deceiving informal "How are you" or a simple "I'm sorry". Discarded letters - beginnings to unknown words - trail at its end.)    
  
It's been about ten years, of course I can't find the right words to say. All my fault, as it should be. I understand that no amount of apologies can ever make up for that.    
  
I'm not sure if you've been visited by other Knights of Pillith yet, or at least received a letter informing you of what's becoming of me. I went against clergy orders, defended a heretic from execution. Wielding Grace in front of me, of all things. But I couldn't bring myself to do it, Yab. This heretic was just a young boy. Despite how shameful I feel about the action and how traitorous I am now considered to the Order, Salvation, and perhaps the Four themselves, I couldn't do it. The "call" - the one that made me a Knight in the first place - told me to defend him.    
  
My following of that same "call" may be the reason why I might spend my final days within the Croft.    
  
If - by the sheer grace of the Four - I am able to truly redeem myself in the eyes of the Order, I will not hold anything against you if you decide not to take me as well. The clarity of my knighthood and my duty as a wife to you feel stained, and I can hardly bear myself these days. It would be worse if I gave up my title and came home; they would ruin your life too, at my expense. I preferred my atonement in the Croft; as long as you lived out your years fulfilled and happy on our farm, then I accept my fate.    
  
When you see Bethka, and if I am not by her side - or yours - can you please tell her that her mother saw the inner spire of Tdun-Karof, and that it was everything she imagined it to be, and more? And she wishes she could be there to tell her herself.    
  
If I manage to return home to Hen's Crossing - if you'll have me - I only wish to hear about you. How our little town has changed in the past ten years, or how it hasn't, or the many new traps you may have come up with. Hopefully one hasn't caught another dog.    
  
May the Four help enlighten and protect each and every one of your days - if we're together or not. I love you, until my dying, final breath.    
  
\- Olless   
  


  
  



	5. 424 p.e.

Though always fraught with chatter, the schoolyard that morning seemed more alight with gossip. Bethka didn't fully understand why, even when Millie informed her through a hushed whisper.

“Ethel’s sister saw a  _ drow  _ at the Crooked Cock last night!” 

A drow? Like the ones mentioned every so often in her books? What were they doing here?

“....are you sure?” Bethka asked between bites of her lunch. “Which one was it? They’re not always honest.” 

“Charity, and she swears on Pillith’s sword that it was one. Said they’re stoppin’ here for a night’s rest, but she  _ knows  _ they’re lyin’.” 

“Why else would they be here then?” 

“Dunno, but drow don't come to farming towns. My mom says they live in the shadows after they came from the Croft.” 

She couldn't help but pout at this. “That doesn't make any sense. I read that they’re elves, too.” 

“No, dummy! They use their Croft magic to look like elves, but their evilness keeps their skin black.” Millie’s brow immediately furrowed further. “...maybe they’re here to steal and eat up our chickens.” 

An elongated, hunched-over figure immediately sprouted in Bethka’s mind, blending in with the starry sky as a limp chicken laid within its clawed grasp. As her mind added piles upon piles of chickens, a chill shot through her. These things sounded worse than the foxes that tried snapping up their hens! Something still seemed off to her about Millie's remarks, however. If drow were really this dangerous, why didn't her books mention so?

Perhaps Mama and Papa knew more about them. Even if they hardly left home, maybe they could tell her more than what her books or nervous classmates?

That evening, in the lull following the usual slew of questions about her day, she decided to find out.

“Papa, Mama, are drow bad?”

Her parents immediately paused in their eating, and she noticed Papa’s face began to grow as crimson as his beard. Mama only cleared her throat.

“What’s this about drow all of a sudden?”

Mama’s gaze evoked a sudden sense of shyness in her, causing her to look down at the stew she hardly touched. “Charity Sawtooth said she saw one at the bar, and everyone at school seems scared about it. Millie says they’re evil and gonna steal our chickens, but my history book just says they’re like any other elves.” 

“Well, I don't think they’re  _ evil _ , sweetheart,” Mama said, looking back at Papa. “Evil’s only for the monsters in the Croft, and those who refuse The Four’s blessings. I think Charity’s just bein’ a bully and tryin’ to scare you kids.” 

She didn't consider that. Ethel was already mean on her own, so it made sense that her older sister would want to join in. 

Bethka wasn't satisfied with just that, though.

“...but are they bad? Millie says they’re from the Croft.”

“Some people like to say they’re ‘Croft-born’,” Papa finally piped up, “even other elves.”

She looked back up at them, frustration beginning to mount. “...but,  _ are  _ they?” 

Both Mama and Papa were silent for a few minutes, yet they still looked at each other. Did they truly not know? Before Bethka expressed her impatience, Mama continued on, somewhat avoiding the question.

“...I don't think all are bad. If they’re good citizens and pay their grace to The Four, then they’re saved. But their heritage calls them to a more… dangerous life.” 

“Like what?”

“Like stealing. Your grandpa told me stories about bands of drow thieves who lived in the darkest parts of Salvation. They didn't hurt him since he was a priest, but they certainly heckled him, especially because he was a dwarf.”

She frowned. “I thought you said Grandpa was crazy.”

“I mean, he was, but in the years before he and my Mama moved here, he was more sane.” Mama’s eyes quickly darted down to Bethka’s still-sitting stew. “That’s going to get cold soon.”

“I don't want it,” she replied as she grabbed another slice of bread. “It’s too salty.”

Mama sighed. “Alright. Just don't sneak more bread before bed tonight.” As she collected the dishes and whisked them away to the sink, Bethka directed herself towards Papa.

“You've been in the city more than Mama has, have you met drow?”

“Only once,” he said, now cleaning up the bread basket, face still slightly flustered. “...he wasn't the nicest customer.”

“Oh,” was all she managed out.  _ They were mean to Grandpa and Papa. They’re not monsters, but they’re not good. _

“But,” he continued, noticing her disappointment, “like your mama said, some are good. I’m sure up north in the forests, there are a lot who are clergy. Maybe it was one of them who stopped by.”

As Bethka curled up in bed that night, the “bad” drow still lingered with her. What if Papa and Mama only brought up “good” ones so she wouldn't get scared? Yet, accepting them as being all bad didn't make sense to her. But why was everyone else nervous? Why did Mama and Papa take so long to answer her? They didn't stress thievery for humans or even dwarves before, so unless they were fully faithful, they must like stealing.

Clutching Henny tightly against her chest, her once impeding curious thoughts faded. From darkness burst a muddled twilight, as she found herself in the middle of the henyard, dark clouds swirling and rumbling above her. A call for Mama and Papa went unanswered, as an unknown fear continued to take her over. A voice - she didn’t know whose - told her turn around. When she obeyed, she was greeted with the figure that haunted her thoughts earlier.

Here, however, she could see its full face. Ears shot up over its head, curling against both sides, and red eyes illuminated against its pitch-black skin, piercing her gaze that she tried to avert. Her family’s chickens, missing from the yard when she first appeared, were scattered across the field. Blood only came from cuts and scrapes in doses; never she imagined that it flow like a river, staining the green fields she was so familiar with. She was out in the open world, yet she felt so trapped. Her thoughts commanded her to move, to run - but her legs refused. The drow crept closer, dropping the broken hen when it chose her as its next meal. When her vision was filled with nothing but its piercing gaze, she snapped awake. Her first thought was to find Henny, whose disappearance frightened her further. Eventually, she found her, lying against her dresser.

As the rosy dawn broke through her window and she heard their rooster crow, Bethka knew she was safe, and all was well. How long would it be until the drow came for them, though?

She refused to mention her dream to Mama and Papa over breakfast, despite their questioning her puffy eyes and quiet demeanor. Mama’s usual kisses to her cheek before she left for school felt more comforting, as if she already knew.  She carefully trudged the path down to the schoolhouse, overlooking every bush that shook with the wind. She knew it wasn’t real, but she had to be safe. Her paranoia even encouraged her to bring Henny along for the day, tucked away in her pack, in a shadow that the drow couldn’t touch. 

When trading lunches, a weekly ritual between Millie and herself that went unknown to both their parents, she confessed her dream to her. Millie’s anxiety grew as she continued on and on, gasping when she told her the ending.

“The Four were tryin’ to tell you! They’re goin’ to eat us too!” Her face flushed as she hastily grabbed a small cake from her bag, scarfing it down before Bethka could give her her dessert. “I have to tell Mom to bring in the chickens before tonight.” 

“Do you know if they’re still here?” 

Millie nodded. “Charity talked to it the other night, they said they were staying for a few days more. But nobody’s seen it, because it’s been waiting for night to creep out.”  

She shuddered at this, remembering how her parents asked her to pick up more bread for dinner tonight. If the drow came out of night, she needed to head to the market right after school. A nervous thought told her that it, instead, would eat up Mama or Papa (or both!) when they fed the hens for the night. She had to warn them; Bethka didn’t want to be an orphan because of a wayward drow.

Anxiety plagued her through the rest of the school day, with her teacher’s voice drowned out by her dream. With the dismissal, she quickly packed up her books and papers, only to be stopped at the doorway by a certain, overtowering classmate. 

“Where’dya think you’re off to so fast-like?” 

Of all the times Ethel chose to pick on her, this was the worst possible one. It was almost as if she knew and wanted Bethka to be caught by the drow.

“Please not now, Ethel!” she cried, attempting to push through her. “I need to be home before it gets dark!”

“N’ why’s that?” She leaned over, flashing a yellowed grin at her. “Yer afraid that Croft-beast is gonna get you? Charity says it’s real tall and scary. Eat up a rat like you  _ real _ fast.”

Bethka felt tears well up in her eyes, but her need to escape outweighed whatever embarrassment she might’ve had. “M-maybe it’ll eat you for being so mean!”

“Please,” she said, now standing back up, “my family and me’s so mean we’ll string it u--”

She burst through the gap between Ethel’s starkly skinny legs, not caring if she interrupted her, or if Ethel gave chase. Bethka could hear her shout behind her, but once she left beyond the schoolyard, sped through the marketplace, and returned home with bread, she was safe. She could tell Mama and Papa to lock up the chickens and stay inside with her. There wouldn’t be blood out back, everyone would be safe and alive and happy. The drow would leave, disappear into the shadows where even The Four couldn’t find it, and never touch Hen’s Crossing again.

Her face, reddened with sprinting and her panic, fell when she saw the empty marketplace.

It was early afternoon, where did everyone go? The baker usually kept her stand open until dusk, and there was always a gnome family’s cart stationed. Yet it was silent, with hollow baskets and secured doors. Not even the occasional wandering chicken strolled by, and Bethka suddenly felt as alone and trapped as in her dream. If she waited for anybody to return, it would be nightfall already. The drow would see her still sobbing, snatching her up before she had a chance to fight. Distracted with the thought, playing out so vividly in her head, she held her pack against her chest, feeling Henny within it. She didn’t care about the tear stains everywhere, she didn’t want to return home and explain to Mama and Papa that she was too much of a baby to wait for the markets to reopen, frightened of a creature that she hasn’t even seen yet.

In that moment, she forgot her loud sobbing may have attracted some attention, as a soft, unexpected voice broke her train of despair.

“Is everything okay?”

This mysterious figure was so tall, that all Bethka could initially see was a draping white tunic, created out of a silk so fine it felt otherworldly. As her gaze slowly ascended, more colors - all she could tell through blurred vision - popped into view, notably a purple sash which sat on the figure’s hips.

Then, she saw it - a black face with bright pink eyes, staring down at her, oddly not out of hunger. Still, her sobbing continued.

“P-please don’t eat me!!”

Confusion overtook the young, drow woman’s concern.

“E-eat you? Of course I won’t do that!” She bent over, carefully outreaching a hand to Bethka’s tiny shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, dear.”

Bethka instantly recoiled at the drow’s touch, but when it felt gentle instead of rough and sharp - like the claws she dreamed up - she sensed that, maybe, she wasn’t going to eat her. The drow’s pink eyes wanted to  _ help  _ her.

Gleaming in the filtered sunlight, she caught a glimpse of something that eased her mind: a symbol of Dyal, dangling off the drow's neck.

“Y-you are a good one,” she sniffed. “I-I’m sorry I thought you were goin’ to eat me.”

The Dyal monk laughed slightly at this. “I know I don’t look so trustworthy at times, especially when I’m the only elf around here. But the eating people thing is a new one. You can believe me when I say this, though.” She patted her shoulder softly. “I only stick to eating vegetables.”

Bethka giggled, more so out of relief that the drow wasn’t going to eat her after all. She seemed nice, but why was everyone afraid of her? Did they not know she followed The Four like them?

“Now,” she continued, looking at Bethka, “is everything else alright?”

She nodded. “Y-yeah. I just let people get to my head, that’s all.”

“That happens sometimes, and I know it can be scary. Sometimes going against it and realizing the truth can be even scarier, but I’m glad you did that.” As she continued meeting the drow’s gaze, she didn’t know why she expected glowing red eyes out of her. They were so pink that they reminded her of dawn, just like the one she woke up to this morning.

The drow stood up, yet kept her hand outstretched. “May I take you home? Your parents must be worried sick about you.”

Although she hesitated initially, Bethka accepted the drow’s hand, placing her palm within it. She certainly felt her race in a town full of humans, and she especially felt it here, compared to a willowy, tall elf.

“Lead the way,” she said, shooting a smile at her. 

On the walk back home, Bethka inquired many a thing to the drow monk, purposefully weaving her through town in order to stall and hear more. What better way to ask about a drow to a drow herself? The monk, who politely introduced herself as Coline, cleared up all of the talk about drow coming from the Croft. Mama and Papa couldn’t do that! Coline explained that, just like every race in Paradise, The Four accepted every one of them. Drow just didn’t look like other elves, and that scared the other races in Paradise when they appeared. Even when she joined the Monks of Dyal, she felt some animosity from the other clerics and monks, but it didn’t matter to her, as she was there to be guided by The Four and do their work. Bethka couldn’t stop herself from relating to this; Ethel and her friends made fun of her for being a dwarf, but because they had nothing else to pick on. 

When asked about what she did as a monk, Coline described her travels across Paradise, stopping in small towns like this one to oversee agriculture. She specified it as one of her favorite parts of her role: seeing the diversity of Dyal’s bounty, and all that she provided to the citizens of Paradise. Leaving Hen’s Crossing, even just for a little bit, to see all of the world beyond sounded intriguing and fun to Bethka. Plus, she would get to eat more - no more salty stew for her! Maybe Henny could go with her, too. 

As they approached the hillside leading up to her home, Coline briefly stopped. 

“You’re such a curious little thing,” she said, “and I’ve had such a nice afternoon talking with you.” Bethka glowed upon hearing this, yet Coline’s white brows furrowed. “Tell me, Bethka, why were afraid of me?” 

“...well,” she began, looking down at her feet, “I heard somebody at the Crooked Cock saw you, and since we never have elves, or drow, everyone at school was afraid. I don’t think they knew you were clergy.”

“Oh… Oh, I see.” Her tone didn’t sound disappointed, yet rather humorous. “That must’ve been the night I went without my garb, and got heckled by some of your neighbors. I knew taverns weren’t exactly my scene.”

When she heard “neighbors”, Bethka instantly knew it was the Sawtooths that bullied her. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling sheepish once more. “Those neighbors are kind of mean to anyone who isn’t them.”

“I caught on to that, dear. Some people are just like that, but I’ve had worse.” As Coline gently released her hand, the clouds overhead faded into grey. 

“It was very nice getting to know you, little Bethka.” She ruffled her loose braids, stifling a giggle from her. “If you ever want to know more about the Clerics, stop by the Shrine when you’re a little older. Ask for me, too, and I can even give more of a thorough guide.” 

“Thank you, Miss Coline.”

“Now, run along back home,” she said, smiling gently. “May Dyal bless your family with much for the rest of your days.” 

Darting up the pathway, Bethka could hardly contain her excitement about all she learned. This morning, she would’ve never guessed that she returned with a newly alight dream in her heart, than a fear of the unknown. Mama greeted her when she entered, although confused why she didn’t have the requested loaf.

“They were shut down for the day, huh? Dinner can do without it.” She enveloped Bethka in a quick hug. “What’d you do all afternoon, then? Play with Millie?”

“No, but I’ll tell you and Papa all about it soon!” She squeezed her mom back, relieved of the day’s revelations. “By the way, can you make me something?” 

  
  



	6. 443 p.e.

[This letter looks crumpled in some areas, oddly enough towards the middle. A couple of the words look a touch blurred. ]

Yab,

We made it to the Shrine of Dyal this morning, and hope is thankfully not out of the question for Milo. He’s awake now, but the clerics told us news that still isn't sitting well with me. I was going to tell you of his addiction when I was home, and I’m sorry for not doing so earlier. It seemed like he was getting better, avoiding magical use, but that changed when we went into the Croft the night before we left. It sped his addiction, and, because of it, he only has a few years - at most - before it takes him. Their treatment can only do so much at this point.

The same thing that gave me the power to heal others killed Bethka, as well as thousands; it’ll take Milo too. This bears down on me, even as a Knight. Only when Elwyn and Milo were harmed did I take the actual Grace - otherwise, I hate it, Yab. When I first met them, I tried telling them the dangers of Grace, but how will holding that over their heads help them now? The damage is done and the clock’s ticking. I only want him to live his final days in peace, and I hope those don’t come soon.

The world is a terrible place now. There is still much beauty left, like the Shrine and the rolling fields of our home, but there is something coming that I fear will swallow everything whole. Beasts and demons are crawling onto the surface, and I know in my heart there is a way to stop it altogether. That is what Milo, Elwyn, and I want to find. We promised this to the Four Themselves, and we would be fools to do them wrong. If our little town is affected by these Croftborn, please, please be safe, in whatever way you see best. No doubt it may test your gentle heart, but many other things have, and it always shines through.

Those couple of days spent at home were the best I’ve had in ten years. Seeing her again was a battle the Knights never could have trained me for, but, you and her are the reason why I’m who I am today. Why I fight, why I need to stop whatever’s coming from taking us. When it’s over, I will return to you, perhaps not leaving under much stressful circumstances.

I love you so much, Yab. May the Four bless you and Hen’s Crossing with peace and protection in the days to come. 

I’ll see you soon.

\- Olless

[Underneath this, in the bottom corner of the page, lies a sketched out chicken.]

  
  



	7. 453 p.e.

_ I wanted you to be among the first to know _ , the excited script posed, catching Olless’s full attention immediately.  _ I’m with child.  _

She nearly missed the chair when she sat down. Yab believed illness was the cause of her slip, until she showed him the letter. 

“It says what I think it does, right? I’m not just old and seeing things?”

“Unless age is makin’ us both crazy, you’re not.” With a nervous chuckle, he shook his head in awe. “That’s…. wow. Congratulations to them. Didn't really expect it so soon, though.” 

“Didn’t really expect us to have one that young, either,” she quipped, now settling into her chair. Even as she hastily wrote a response, she could hardly wrap her head around it. The once stubborn, teenage Elwyn now was having a family of her own. She admittedly struggled with the same revelation upon her marriage to Merc, a joyous occasion that was overshadowed by the fact she was growing up so quickly. She wasn’t ready for it, but would she even be ready the first time around?

_ Come over for the day,  _ her letter concluded,  _ Yab and I’ll make a huge dinner to celebrate your new family!  _

After exchanging a couple more letters, the elven couple arrived at their hillside home later that month. Years had passed since their home was that overly jovial. Now Elwyn was more than accustomed to Yab, and even he and Merc got along well. Even Ginger, just like her father Bluto, sensed their excitement and joined in on the fun. Olless remembered these first couple of months from her own pregnancy, before sickness and temperament took over. They, among other things, would affect Elwyn eventually; perhaps they were now, and she was toughing through it for the sake of the night. Whatever the case was, she was nonetheless glad they were able to take this night to spend together. Yet there was still a piece missing, a missing presence from their already cramped table. She sensed Elwyn thought of Milo too during this night, how they both wanted him to join in on their humble festivities. 

She was still smiling from it during her duties in Lordston, and they didn't go unnoticed by her ever intent squire. When she explained them to Ellen, she was met with squeals. Olless had never seen her so enthusiastic, conflicting with her usual meekness. With every week that passed, Ellen persistently requested an update, which humored Olless. She was anxious for one as well, but it was almost as if she forgot how long children spent in the womb.

Elwyn’s following letters gave her pause. She wondered about stretch marks, ailments, and even advice that Olless wasn’t so sure to give at first. She still bore her stretch marks from Bethka, however faded they currently were in her age, and creams and tonics wouldn't cease that. Ailments were a whole other topic that she felt she couldn't impart fair advice on. Bethka churned her stomach on the daily and drained her appetite, but she knew neighbors who consumed all within their reach, only to fall ill with every slight breeze. Plus, her own mother never lived to guide her through her own pregnancy, leaving a delusional father who wasn't quite as helpful. Her quill remained stagnant over the paper, as she stared at the mostly blank letter within her garrison office. Suddenly, the words flowed out.

_ Don’t compare your experience to anyone else’s,  _ she began.  _ A child can change your body differently than your neighbor’s. You may eat a lot, or food may seem foreign to you. Dyal will more than understand if that’s the case. _

_ As for the stretch marks _ , she continued, as moonlight peeked through her window,  _ some may go away, and others won’t, no matter how much the clerics give you. They may run up and down you in places you don't want them, but it happens to all of us. Breastfeeding after the child is born would prevent more of them from showing up. _

_ And who knows,  _ Olless concluded, with a small smirk on her face,  _ maybe Merc might enjoy them. _

She didn't receive the second most shocking of the letters until she returned to Hen’s Crossing, greeted by a jittery Yab.

“I couldn't believe it myself,” he said after their quick embrace. A quizzical look from her prompted him to dig out the letter and immediately show it to her. She then too looked as frantic as the drow’s handwriting. Twins. The Four really must have been grateful for their adventure a decade prior. 

As soon as she was able to secure a day, she set out to Shadowtown to visit the expecting couple in their new home. Olless was welcomed with Merc’s trademark flourish, before being taken to where a very swollen Elwyn lied in bed. Newly crafted toys were scattered around her, and she couldn't help but admire Merc’s delicate craftsmanship. She reminisced about how Bethka left her bedbound frequently, as she and Elwyn talked for a good long while. Their conversations were occasionally interrupted by the twins contorting within her, and subsequent cries of pain. Immediately, Olless’s hand glowed golden as she lowered it onto Elwyn’s stomach. The pain didn't wholly subside, but Elwyn weakly chuckled at her instinct. Just like the old days, only now this pain was beyond Olless’s healing. 

More letters flew back and forth between them, some attached with small parcels. In her downtime at home, she sewed together baby shoes and hats they would need for the upcoming winter. Considering how lanky their parents were, Olless assumed the babies would sprout up like weeds, outgrowing any sort of clothes gifted to them. She promised within the letters, however, that clothes would follow as soon as they stopped growing. She nearly offered to make toys, but she knew Merc was excitedly making some of his own, and left that to him.

This all felt like a daydream to her, despite however much she discussed it with Yab and Ellen and tossed it within her own head. She saw how mature Elwyn was looking and acting, beyond her rounded abdomen, but she also saw her as sixteen, awkward, and capricious. There was an odd disconnect between the two Elwyns, even if she watched her blossom and change over the past decade. What was she going to do when she saw the new mother with the two children? Would she still feel this way? 

Two months rolled by without another word, causing her to grow even more anxious. Her mind slipped into the worst scenario, with only Yab to help calm her out of it. Still, she had already lost one of them, she couldn't lose the other, especially to something that would bring them such joy. Even a letter of hers went unanswered as the frost gently crept in. She was beginning to worry, and Ellen’s update requests during their sparring sessions only nagged at her mind more.

“Lady Olless!” Ellen called out one afternoon, hurrying through the garrison’s gates, “I have something for you!”

“Hold up there,” Olless addressed her, in the midst of inspecting the local war horses, “what’s all the fuss?”

She shoved her a tightly wrapped parcel, from a familiar name. Before she knew it, its pieces surrounded her feet, with one of the war ponies attempting to nip it up. Its contents revealed a haphazardly-scripted letter, and an intricate drawing, with a smiling, buoyant Elwyn holding a pair of sleeping babes. Between this and him referring to her as “Grandma”, tears bubbled up in her eyes. The Four truly had blessed them.

“What’s it say?” Ellen excitedly asked, trying to peek over her shoulder. Before Olless could fully digest and repeat it back, her vision blurred instantly, with her grip nearly ripping the letter in two.

The last things she saw before composing herself were the children’s names.

Ellisar and Elisabeth.

 

Beth for short. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading this! admittedly it was an impulse post at 2am, but i just wanted to collect my writings for our last campaign and arrange them a bit more narratively. if you made it this far i really appreciate you giving this a chance, and please give feedback if you feel inclined!


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